


People Do It on YouTube All the Time

by purplegertie



Series: People Do It on YouTube All the Time [1]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Belly Kink, Burping, Dare, Frottage, Inflation, M/M, Stomach Ache
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-02
Updated: 2014-02-02
Packaged: 2018-01-10 21:18:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1164628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplegertie/pseuds/purplegertie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jared dares Jensen to try a Coke & Mentos bloat. Neither of them are sure it'll work, but Jared has always wanted to see Jen with a big, firm belly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	People Do It on YouTube All the Time

“I dare you,” Jared taunts. “Or do I win?”

“You fucking wish,” Jensen growls.

“It’s my turn, I pick, and this is what I want. Unless it’s _too weird_.”

Jensen tries to cover for the fact that this is, in fact, weird beyond anything he imagined Jared would want. He’d imagined golden showers, he’d looked up the specifics of sounding just to brace himself, in case. But he hadn’t braced himself for this. “You want me to try and explode my stomach. You saying that’s not weird?”

“Not explode it, dickweed. Expand it. Real big.” Jared held his hands out to demonstrate, fingers wide and curved like they were holding a beach ball. Or Jensen’s stomach.

“We said no permanent damage.”

“It’s totally safe. I saw some guy do it on YouTube.”

“Well, now I’m convinced.”

Jared shrugs, evilly nonchalant. “Do it, or you’re buying me that fucking Wii.”

“Like hell,” Jensen says, which pretty much settles it.

..

Jared gives him a couple of days to sort out the logistics. Jensen goes and does some googling, which makes him feel bizarrely better. For one thing, a lot of these forum posts are by people who tried one of these coke-and-mentos-bloat things and just plain couldn’t get it to work. Nobody ever said the dare had to be successful. He still can’t get himself to watch any of the YouTube videos, though.

Of course, the mood killers on Yahoo Answers say it’s a terrible idea, that you could rupture your stomach or something, but there definitely aren’t any videos of _that_ on YouTube. He’d know by the hit counts, right?

Jensen is not buying Jared a Wii.

..

The day of, Jensen goes to Jared’s place. As soon as he’s in the door, Jared has him backed against the wall with his tongue down Jensen’s throat. Jensen shoves him off. “Not _now_ , fucker.”

“Doubt you’ll feel like it after.”

Jensen’s not thinking about how he’s going to feel _after_. “Just let me do the thing, okay? Or are you withrawing the dare?”

“Fuck no. I already bought the stuff.” 

Right.

Jensen follows Jared into the kitchen. There they are on the counter: a couple of twenty-ounce bottles of diet Coke, a roll of mint Mentos. Jared’s been doing his homework, too, it seems. 

“Right,” Jensen says. “Um.”

“I figured the bathroom, in case you puke.”

“Great.” Jensen grabs a bottle and the Mentos, and Jared follows behind with the rest of the soda. “You know if this works with one bottle, I ain’t drinking the second one.”

Jared hums noncommittally. “Probably want to take your pants off, right? For room.”

Jensen doesn’t argue. He lines up the Cokes next to the bathtub and kicks his jeans off, and then he sits himself down on the closed toilet seat. “Bottoms up,” Jared says, handing him the first bottle. The top’s already unscrewed. “Remember, you have to chug it, or you’ll lose all the fizz.” Jensen turns to scowl at him, but Jared doesn’t even look all that smug about Jensen’s discomfort. He’s too busy wearing that Fourth of July expression that comes right before the firework explodes.

Fuck that. Jensen closes his eyes, tips up the bottle, and gulps. The carbonation stings his throat. Then he takes another swallow, and another, on and on until he has to come up for air. He heaves in a breath and then holds it as his stomach gurgles unhappily. He breathes shallowly, and he waits. After a minute or two he still feels faintly sick, but not like he’s going to barf. Probably. Cautiously he tips the bottle up and drinks the rest of it, and waits again.

“How’s it feel?”

Jensen opens his eyes. Jared’s grinning at him, looking so puppy-dog pleased that his tongue might as well be hanging out. “Little weird,” Jensen says. Bloated already, kind of, and he hasn’t even added the active ingredient.

The same must occur to Jared. He hands the roll of Mentos to Jensen and says much too cheerfully, “Now for the main event. Quick, swallow. Whole, or it—”

“It won’t work, I know.”

“Good thing I’ve given you so much practice suppressing your gag reflex.”

“Har har,” Jensen says absently. He unrolls the Mentos, pops the first one in his mouth. Mint is not his favorite, but research by a bunch of possibly illiterate YouTubers suggests that it works the best, as Jared apparently also discovered. It catches in the back of his throat, and he almost chokes, trying to get it down. He flails for something to wash it down with, and the second bottle of diet Coke slides into his hand, smooth as anything. He takes a swallow, and the Mentos finally washes down.

He takes a moment and waits for his stomach to explode. It doesn’t. He doesn’t feel any sicker. Maybe there’s a little fizzing?

“Come _on_ ,” Jared says.

“Fuck you.” At least Jensen’s got a system now. He slides each Mentos down on a tide of diet Coke, one after the other until the roll is empty and the Coke’s half gone, too. He sits back against the toilet tank and rubs his stomach. “You know if nothing happens, you don’t get a second try.”

“It’ll work.”

Jensen’s not so sure. “Dude, if I were one of those plastic bottles, I’d be gushing ten feet in the air right now. I don’t think it’s working. Oh.” 

“Oh?”

Jensen prods his stomach. It’s the wrong move. A burp escapes from his throat, sharp and unexpected and loud. Jared laughs. “I’m,” Jensen begins. “Oh, god.” His palm flat to his belly, he can feel the swelling as it happens. If there’s pain, he doesn’t notice; he’s too busy being horrified at how his skin is growing taut under his fingers. Jared shove Jensen’s shirt up his chest so they can both see as Jensen’s stomach blooms outward like some kind of flower in the goddamned sun. 

“Awesome,” Jared breathes.

“No, it’s—” Jensen’s cut off by another croaking belch.

“You gonna puke?”

Jensen doesn’t know. He’s got too many things going on at once to keep track: hiccups of foamy air forcing themselves out of him, his stomach continuing to expand. A cramp burrows through him, and he moans.

“Jensen?”

“Goddamnit.” Jensen tries to massage his stomach, but it hurts, and it feels all wrong, his skin straining to hold him like some overworked balloon. Another cramp strikes deep in his gut. “Argh.”

“Come on, let’s get you on the bed.” Jensen barely notices as Jared manhandles him up and out to the bedroom. Then Jensen’s lying down, his shirt rucked up again as Jared’s hands skim across the surface of his belly.

Jensen burps again, and then he moans. “Ugh, it hurts.”

Jared’s fingers trace along the underside of Jensen’s gut. “You’re still getting bigger,” he reports. “It’s working into your intestines and stuff now.”

“Fuck.” Jensen throws his head back against the pillow and shuts his eyes. He inhales through the ache and the _wrong_ , and he exhales, and he tries really hard not to think. He keeps his hands at his sides, opening and closing them to keep from touching.

“God, you’re enormous, Jen.”

Jensen’s eyes fly open. Then he has to struggle up onto his elbows and look down at himself. He is. He’s huge. His distended belly rises out of him like a bubble waiting to burst, bloatedly smooth except for the dimple of his bellybutton. “That ain’t right,” he mutters, and burps again.

“How does it feel?”

“How do you think it fucking feels? It hurts! Ugh.” Jensen reaches around the enormous pregnant-woman figure of _his stomach_ to try and rub below his navel. Jared must be right; all that air Jensen’s full of is working its way south. 

“Here, let me.” Jared brushes Jensen’s hand aside and massages right where Jensen wanted it. It can’t possibly be relieving any pressure, but something about it is relaxing, not that Jensen would ever admit it. “You’re glowing.”

“Fuck you.”

“You gotta see yourself.” Massage abruptly over, Jared grips Jensen’s arm and pulls him to his feet before Jensen really knows what’s happening. Jensen follows Jared a stumble only to pull up short in front of Jensen’s full length mirror. “See?” Jared asks.

“Fuck me,” Jensen breathes. He turns to see himself in profile. He doesn’t look pregnant. He just looks _fat_ , like a frat boy after ten years of keggers. “Fuck me.”

“I could,” comes Jared’s heated whisper in his ear.

Jensen twists to stare at him. “You have got to be kidding me. This is turning you on?”

Jared crowds in behind him and wraps both hands around Jensen’s swollen stomach, like the obscene parody of a happy family to be. Against all reason, a boner presses against Jensen's ass. “Why’d you think I asked for it?”

“To fuck with me.”

“That, too,” Jared agrees, swinging Jensen around to face him. “But now I just want to fuck you.” His hands clap onto Jensen’s stomach again like he can’t keep them away. “God, you’re huge.” He drops to his knees, and presses his face into Jensen’s aching belly. “And hot. And _fat_.”

“Am not.”

“Are, too.”

Before Jensen can reply, another cramp hits him. His hand goes to his stomach so fast he nearly pokes Jared in the eye. While he’s still pressing his hand to his belly, another burp hiccups out of him. 

It’s a couple of minutes of misery as Jared walks him to the bed and lays him back down. Jared tries the massage thing again, but that only makes the cramps worse, and finally Jared’s left hovering while Jensen curls up as tightly as he can around a belly full of air and squeezes his eyes shut against the pain.

Finally the last cramp leaves him. Jensen waits a few moments, and then cautiously he stretches out on the bed.

“You dying on me?” Jared asks.

“I don’t think so.” 

“I think you’re about as big as you’re going to get.”

“How can you fucking tell?”

“You’re all round down here now.” Jared’s fingers trace along the underside of Jensen’s stomach. It tickles, and Jensen snorts back an unwanted giggle. “God, you are so hot, Jen.”

There’s a weird note to Jared’s voice – softer, a hell of a lot more sincere than their relationship has room for, made up as it is mostly of fucking each other against walls and yelling obscenities that might, under duress, be taken for affection.

“And all it takes is an extra twenty pounds?” Jensen asks. He reconsiders. “Or thirty-five?”

Jared responds by straddling him, bending over the full-moon sphere of Jensen’s belly, and kissing him into the pillow. His tongue shoves into Jensen’s mouth and claims Jensen’s teeth for its own. Jensen kisses back, just as sharp – he can’t help but buck against that kind of possessiveness. Finally he shoves Jared off him to take a breath, and Jared grins down at him, eyes manic with want.

“Dude, there is no way in hell you are fucking me today.”

“That’s okay,” Jared says, grin still shark-fierce. He sits up long enough to unbuckle his pants and push them and his boxers down his thighs. He shifts in place, plants his hands on either side of Jensen, and begins rutting against him. Jensen grunts with each press against his turgid, straining belly, half of the grunts ending in belches that burn up his throat, but despite it all he can feel himself hardening. Swollen everywhere, that’s Jensen. Then Jared yells and his come splashes across Jensen’s stomach, hot and white. He rolls over next to Jensen, breath heaving.

Jensen elbows him. “Now me, asshole.”

Jared blinks at him. After a moment, the grin returns, and he shoves onto his elbow and reaches for Jensen’s dick. “Will you look at that,” he says. “Somebody likes being fat.”

“Like seeing you get off on it,” Jensen says in a burst of unprecedented honesty.

The grin transforms into something less brilliant but, Jensen is obscurely certain, more true. “Yeah?”

“Like doing that to you.”

“Oh, you do it to me.” Jared slides up and down the length of Jensen’s dick. “You all big and bloated, gets me right in the gut.”

Jensen snorts, but the words make him hotter just the same. 

“You’re like a blowfish. All that air, right under my fingertips.” Jared’s fingers trail up to Jensen’s stomach and tickle across his straining skin. “Like you’ve got a beach ball in there. And you waddle all around—”

“I do not!”

Jared’s hand returns to Jensen’s boxes and keeps on sliding, up and down an up. “And I can’t stop looking at it. It’s like you’re all belly, with a man attached. It’s so big I hardly even see you behind it.”

“Thanks a lot.”

Jared leans over and kisses Jensen just left of his navel on skin still whitely sticky. “Like a goddamned national monument.”

An that’s all it take for Jensen to arch against the touch, spill into his boxers, and then slump back, spent. Jared drops his hand. Maybe he closes his eyes; Jensen’s already gone.

..

Somehow, an hour later Jensen is still almost the same size, even though he’s farted out what feels like an entire gut full of air. He’s still cramping intermittently. He runs his hands over his stomach: still taut and aching. Jared’s gone off to the kitchen, so Jensen dares to push himself off the bed and look himself over in the mirror again. Jared was overstating the case; he is _not_ a belly with a man attached. Still, it does draw the eye. It swells out over his dick like the prow of an ocean liner, and he the ship parting the seas with every step he takes. 

He misses Jared coming up the stairs, and he can’t get away from the mirror fast enough to keep Jared from noticing. Jared herds him back over to it, and then he props his chin on Jensen’s shoulder and admires the reflection. “Twenty pounds, Jen. Come on.”

“We said no permanent damage.”

Jared’s hands slide possessively over the vast broad swell of Jensen. “Forget the bet. I’ll buy you the fucking Wii.” 

The End


End file.
